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Rev. Jonalu Johnstone
May 14, 2023
First UU Church of Austin
4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756
www.austinuu.org

Whether you came from a different religious tradition or grew up purely UU, you have probably encountered religious concepts, phrases, and words that rub you wrong. Today we consider those words – some that you’ve provided – and what it means to consider, reclaim, or reject the words that we love to hate.

Chalice Lighting

This is the flame we hold in our hearts as we strive for justice for everyone. This is the light we shine upon systems of oppression until they are no more. This is the warmth that we share with one another as our struggle becomes our salvation.

Call to Worship

ON THE BRINK
By Leslie Takahashi

All that we have ever loved
And all that we have ever been
Stands with us on the brink
Of all that we aspire to create:
A deeper peace, A larger love,
A more embracing hope,
A deeper joy in this life we share.

Affirming Our Mission

Together we nourish souls, transform lives, and do justice to build the Beloved Community.

Pastoral Meditation/Prayer

CIRCLE OF CARE
By Lisa Bovee-Kemper

In this circle of care, we make space for the complexity of life, the myriad experiences that bless and break our hearts. The truth of human experience dictates that on any given day, we each come to the table with hearts in different places. It is especially so on this day, invented to honor women who nurture.

In this circle of care, we honor the truth that mothering is not and never will be quantified in one single descriptor. Mothering can be elusive or infuriating, fulfilling or confusing, commonplace or triumphant. It exists in the every day experiences of each person. There is no human being that is not connected to or disconnected from a mother.

And so we honor the complexity of experience, writ large in flowered platitudes, but here in this space laid bare, honoring the truth in each of our hearts. There is room for all in this circle:

If you have carried a child or children, whether or not they came to be born, we see you.

If you have fervently wished to do so, and circumstances of fate made it impossible, we see you.

If you love children we cannot see, whether because of death or estrangement, we see you.

If you never wanted to be a mother, we see you.

If you are happy to mother other people’s children, as an educator, an auntie, or a foster parent, we see you.

If your mother hurt you, physically or emotionally, we see you.

If you had no mother at all, we see you.

If your mother is or was your best friend, we see you.

If your gender says you are not a mother, and yet you take on the role of nurturer, we see you.

If you wonder whether your mothering has been enough, we see you.

And if yours is a different truth altogether, we honor your unspoken story.

Reading

TOWARD A HUMANIST VOCABULARY OF REVERENCE
by David E. Bumbaugh
to Chicago Area UU Council at Unitarian Church of Hinsdale, Illinois
on May 12, 2001

As an observer of and participant in contemporary Unitarian Universalism, I have found myself wondering what has happened to the Humanist witness among us. How has it happened that we, who once seemed to set the agenda for religious discourse, now find ourselves increasingly on the defensive, if not engaged in a monologue? I would submit that to some degree at least we are talking to ourselves because we have allowed ourselves to be defined by the opposition. We have dismissed traditional religion as an atavistic aberration. We have given up the hope of a constructive dialogue. We have manned the ramparts of reason and are prepared to defend the citadel of the mind against a renewal of superstition until the very end. But in the process of defending, we have lost the vocabulary of reverence, the ability to speak of that which is sacred, holy, of ultimate importance to us, the language which would allow us to enter once more into critical dialogue with the rest of the religious community. If this be so, then the recovery of a vital vocabulary of reverence is a task of great urgency for those of us who cherish the Humanism tradition.

Sermon

We have to acknowledge that if we want to talk about what is deepest, most valuable, most awesome, our tools are limited. Silence might be best, yet humans that we are, we seem driven to share our experience. The tools we have are the inadequate ones of symbols, and the symbols we use most readily are words. And when we want words that are hefty enough to represent what is most profound, they are often religious, or spiritual, words.

That’s tough for many of us who came as religious refugees to Unitarian Universalism. We have felt hurt and excluded by those who claim only through Jesus Christ or only through the Catholic Church or only through anyone particular way is one fully accepted and acceptable. I particularly loved seeing an article in the satirical paper “The Onion” some years ago that proclaimed in its headline, “Jesus is MY personal savior, not yours.” Seriously, the exclusivity claim can wound deeply.

Spiritual wounds come from “coercive belief systems and spiritual practices,” according to Flora Slosson Wuellner, a spiritual director, writer, and retired United Church of Christ minister. Insistence on belief and emotional manipulation in a spiritual setting, often by a charismatic leader harms people spiritually, no matter what that leader’s or belief system’s particular perspective. The wounds that come from these settings can produce guardedness around our beliefs, a desire to keep them private and protected. It can lead to passivity around religion, leaving one’s decisions to someone else. Or, it can lead to defensiveness and defiance, anger flaring whenever religion comes up.

I needed spiritual healing when I came to UUism. It took decades before I could fully and positively name and articulate my own positive beliefs instead of simply denying what I had been taught, and even coming to embrace some of it. That was a process of healing.

Religious words and concepts have hurt, yes, and they have been powerful healers and comforters as well. The “Plowshare Song” Katrina sang this morning shifts religious concepts into a healing embrace, beating swords into plowshares. If something has survived for centuries, there may be something there worth exploring. And if we want to understand our neighbors and family who embrace them, maybe it’s worth poking around a bit.

Also, when I am doing social justice work with other religious people, they sometimes will use their religious language and if we’re going to be able to work together, I have to at least be able to tolerate their expressions of faith, and I have to be able to explain how my own faith tradition, Unitarian Universalism, relates to my work.

And the deeper reason for dealing with religious language relates not to our external work, but to being a community together. If a congregation is to be a safe haven, then people need to share their full selves without defensiveness, especially the essence of their spiritual journeys. That means that atheists, agnostics, theists, Buddhists, Pagans, existentialists, Christians, and others somehow need to bring their full selves here and talk about their experience without making it an unsafe place for those who disagree with them. This requires some finesse in how we talk together. Each of us has to be able to name our personal experience without the assumption that others share it. At times, we do need to name our communal experience, and in that case, we need to be sure that others agree with that naming, or at least can go along with it. And, we have to be careful not to confuse the two – what I individually endorse and what we communally endorse. A delicate balance.

We need not always use the same religious language.

Prayer, for example, may be powerful for some UU’s, while others have long resisted the cultural imperative of prayer, and find it distasteful and even oppressive. We don’t tell non-praying UU’s that they must pray or tell praying UU’s that they must not pray.

The many shades and shadows, ambiguities and associations, of religious words, differ from one person to another. We have to be able to say to one another, “What do you mean when you say ‘x’?” or “That’s an interesting idea. Here’s how I see it,” without accusing them of being wrong.

I encourage what I’d call a radical agnosticism, a basic acceptance that none of us knows with certainty any of the fundamentals related to religious or spiritual life.

With that, let’s talk about some specific words. As I read the words that you all sent me for the sermon, I’d like you to listen to see if anything surprises you, and to see if there are words on the list that are meaningful to you.

As we continue to look at these words, who was surprised by one or more of these? Who looked at one more more words and felt it was something that was meaningful for them personally?

Many of these words come out of the Christian tradition.

I don’t ever hear UU’s say that words from other traditions like “enlightenment” or “non-attachment” or “Tao,” are too religious. It feels like there is much more tolerance for religious language from non-Christian traditions than there is for the words identified with Christianity. And in this church, at least from the list I got, especially with Catholicism.

Let me say something about a few of these words.

Worship, despite our preconceptions, need not be a ritual dedicated to a god. Rather, the etymology frames the word in terms of respect and honor. For me, UU worship is a process of discerning and acknowledging what is worthy of respect and honor.

A whole subset of submitted words cluster around the idea of salvation: original sin/sin nature, saved/not saved, trespasses, obedience. All of these imply or flat out state a distinction between who’s in and who’s out, who has God’s favor (we’ll get to God in a minute!). We UU’s don’t divide people into saved and damned, and often figure that others put us into that ((damned” category. However, if we reject the whole tenet that some are saved and some are damned, as we do, these words can fall away as irrelevant for us. “I can’t go to hell; I don’t believe in it.”

I might even be able to find something of value in the concept of sin and redemption, as long as I realize I’m not talking about two rigid separate categories of people, but of problems we all face as human beings. “Sin,” in the classical rabbinical formulation, is “missing the mark.” We all have to deal with our tendency to sometimes miss the mark. What do we do to make up for where we have fallen short, to seek forgiveness from others, or to offer forgiveness when it’s needed? These are useful human skills we need to talk about.

So what about the whole “god” thing?

Even the writers of the Bible did not agree on the definition or characteristics of God; they even used different Hebrew words for God. For UU’s, God may be Nature, or Love, or the inexplicable Mystery. For some, God is Creativity or process or the spirit that invigorates life. It can be useful to have a label. For others, God is not a useful image. On this concept, on this definition, we agree to disagree. And value one another anyway.

I want to touch on “Blessed” and “Blessed be.” To bless something is to invoke divine favor, or to name the divine in someone or something. I think about Peter Meyer’s song, “Everything Is Holy Now,” where he describes how when he was a child in church only certain things – the holy water or the book were holy, and now, he can see the holy, the spark of the divine, in the dawning sky, in the chirping bird, in everything. Or about Emerson’s talk of the miracle of the blowing clover. If we can find awe, we may be able to name blessing. That, I think, is why Pagans adopted the phrase “Blessed be,” to define the goodness of the universe – all of it as divine – and to offer the wish that all might be holy, that all might have that spark and that we might all see it.

So, we’ve considered this morning a few of the words that people in this particular UU congregation struggle with. I invite you to continue the conversation, to find ways to be beat hurtful words into healing plowshares. May you all have the chance to speak the words that call you to your best selves, that evoke for you a sense of the sacred, that you find most worthy and honorable as you make the gifts of your lives, trying to create the world you wish to see come into being.

Benediction

BLESSED WITH QUESTIONS
By Ma Theresa

Some came here to be blessed with answers in a tumultuous world.

Let us hope too, however, that many of us have been blessed with questions to direct us with a clarity of mind to steer our logic towards kindness and justice always.

So may it be.

SERMON INDEX

Most sermons during the past 23 years are available online through this website. Click on the index link above to find tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on a topic to go to that sermon.

PODCASTS

Podcasts of this and other sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them by clicking on the podcast link above or copying and pasting this link. https://itunes.apple.com/podcast/first-unitarian-universalist/id372427776

Podcast: Play in new window | Download

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button above.

Rev. Jonalu Johnstone
April 9, 2023
First UU Church of Austin
4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756
www.austinuu.org

Easter, Passover and Ramadan all come together this year. We’ll consider these holidays and break into the full life of the Spring.

Chalice Lighting

This is the flame we hold in our hearts as we strive for justice for everyone. This is the light we shine upon systems of oppression until they are no more. This is the warmth that we share with one another as our struggle becomes our salvation.

Call to Worship

BLESSED ARE WE
By Andrea Hawkins-Kamper

Blessed are we who gather with open hearts, together, in this space, today.
Blessed are we: the chalice-lighters of resistance, justice, love, and faith.
Blessed are we: the heretics, the outcasts, the walkers of our own way.
Blessed are we: the border-crossers, the refugees, the immigrants, the poor, the wanders who are not lost.

Blessed are we: the transgressors, the trespassers, the passers-by, the cause-takers, the defiant, the compliant.
Blessed are we: the hand-extenders, the sign-makers, the protestors, the protectors.
Blessed are we: the trans women, the trans men, the non-binary, the cisgender, the multigender, the no gender.

Blessed are we: the friend, the stranger, the lonely, the hidden, the visible, the authentic.
Blessed are we who rise in solidarity,
blessed are we who cannot, blessed are we who do not.
Blessed are we for this is our Beloved Community, and this is who we are.

Affirming Our Mission

Together we nourish souls, transform lives, and do justice to build the Beloved Community.

Centering and Meditation

As we move into a time of centering and meditation, I recall the tension that can exist in these times between birth and death, Easter in many ways bringing them together. My heart also turns to the Middle, East where the intersections of the holidays have created dangerous clashes. I offer words of prayer from one of my mentors, Rev. Jane Rzepka, who grew up UU appreciating nature in so many ways. She offers words written many years ago that seem apt for this year and this time of the year:

o Spirit of Life and Renewal,

We have wintered enough, mourned enough, oppressed ourselves enough.

Our souls are too long cold and buried, our dreams all but forgotten, our hopes unheard.

We are waiting to rise from the dead.

In this, the season of steady rebirth, we awaken to the power so abundant, so holy, that returns each year through earth and sky.

We will find our hearts again and our good spirits. We will love, and believe, and give and wonder, and feel again the eternal powers.

The flow of life moves ever onward through one faithful spring and another and now another.

May we be forever grateful.

Alleluia.

Amen.

Readings

EARTH SONG
by Langston Hughes

It’s an earth songÑ
And I’ve been waiting long
For an earth song.
It’s a spring song!
I’ve been waiting long For a spring song:
Strong as the bursting of young buds,
Strong as the shoots of a new plant,
Strong as the coming of the first child From its mother’s wombÑ
An earth song!
A body song!
A spring song!
And I’ve been waiting long
For an earth song.

---

THE TREES
Philip Larkin

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again
And we grow old”
No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.<

Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

 

Sermon

We have fully entered the spring season, and all these holidays come along. Past spring equinox, the light is stronger and longer. Last week Rev. Anthony Jenkins helped us see how paganism influenced Easter. And how the role of women – and goddesses – of color has been buried.

Really, though, what do any of these holidays have to do with us? Unitarian Universalism descends directly from Christianity, and some of us even call ourselves Jewish or Christian or Muslim UU’s, though we may have set aside some of the practices, ideas, maybe even the stories. We don’t quite believe them. We are the religious skeptics, right? We’re like the kid who described the Exodus to his mom when she asked what they learned in Sunday School.

He said, “Moses helped his people leave slavery in Egypt.”

His mother nodded.

He went on, “He released the frogs and bugs he’d been saving up, and poured dye in the river to make them think it was blood. Then, he let out chemical warfare that gave them boils. Plus a bunch of other stuff.” By now, his mother was frowning.

And he went on, “Until the Egyptians told them – just get out. So, all the Hebrews left with their half-baked bread. They had to stop at the Red Sea, so Moses built a pontoon bridge across it. But the Egyptians came after them, so Moses radioed for air cover that came and bombed the bridge while the Egyptians crossed over and they fell in the sea.”

“That’s not how your teacher told it,” said the mom. “No, but if I told you what they said, you’d never believe it.”

It’s really important to recognize the differences among the three holidays, especially Passover and Easter. They sometimes get a little mushed together because Christians believe that Jesus, who was a Jew, was arrested during Passover. So, Easter, this distinctly Christian holiday, celebrates the resurrection of Jesus following his murder by Roman authorities. Passover celebrates the escape of the Hebrews – or Jews – from slavery in Egypt. And Ramadan – which doesn’t always come in the spring — celebrates the first appearance of the angel Gabriel to Mohammad. Gabriel recited the Qur’an, the Muslim holy book to Muhammad.

All different holidays with different practices and different stories. Even different food! But there is one thing all these holidays have in common! They do not have a particular date on the calendar that we use every day. Now, this makes a certain amount of sense for both Jewish and Muslim holidays that use calendars based on the cycles of the moon. So, they use a different calendars and the holidays move around a little or a lot.

Easter, though, is not based on a lunar calendar. It’s based on the calendar we use every day of our lives – a solar calendar. Most holidays stay on the same date each year, or the same Monday or Thursday of the month.

Except Easter.

When I was a child, the unpredictability of Easter frustrated me. I never knew when it would come. I couldn’t figure it out. Maybe it was in March, maybe April. Maybe it would feel like spring. Maybe I’d freeze in my new spring outfit. Do you know the formula for setting the date of Easter? It’s the first Sunday after the first full moon after the spring equinox. So, spring equinox, full moon, Sunday. Fully tied into earth-based customs, just like the name is.

Yes! The name Easter is not from the Christian tradition – it’s a pagan name, as we learned last week.

Anyway, Easter comes as a bit of a surprise, like spring does. Spring seems to come suddenly. One morning you wake up, and the trees are in bud. A poet once wrote (Max Picard in 1948, translated by Stanley Goodman, and found by Annie Dillard as “The Child in Spring):

Suddenly, the green appears on the trees – as if The green passed silently from one tree to another.

Suddenly. Suddenly, something turns and despair is replaced by joy. I don’t know what turns it, but I know that I don’t.

Of course, spring also comes at different times in different places. My first year serving in Madison, WI, I scheduled a flower ceremony way too early. Turns out spring doesn’t really come there until June. Here on the other hand, we’re well into spring by the time Easter comes around.

When I was living in rural West Virginia in the 1980’s, I knew it was spring each year when I drove past the herds of sheep that dotted the hillsides and noticed the little lambs with their mothers. I started to look in February, scanning each herd I would pass, hoping to sight the very first lamb of spring. Somehow, it was tied in with the cake my mother used to bake shaped as a lamb, with coconut on top. Somehow, it connected to the feel of dirt unfrozen from the ground and taking tank tops out of boxes in the closet. Spring came each year when the lambs appeared; and the world changed. That reassured me of the predictability of the world.

The lambs were tiny and fuzzy, on trembling legs. The depth of the beauty I felt was in the fragility of those creatures. Fragile, yet ever so real. So alive. So precious. That moment when I saw the first lamb of spring became more profound and joyful with each year that passed.

My colleagues in divinity school used to make fun of my “little lambie” theology of Easter. I don’t think those people have been around farms much, though, or they wouldn’t find it quite so simplistic. These are the connections that give rise to all the great and simple stories of spring.

Poet John Soos, about whom I know very little, has written:

To be of the Earth is to know
the restlessness of being a seed
the darkness of being planted
the struggle toward the light
the joy of bursting and bearing fruit
the love of being food for someone
the scattering of your seeds
the decay of the seasons
the mystery of death
and the miracle of birth.

In that short verse, Soos tells us that every part of the process is legitimate and real. We can only be where we are in that moment, whether a restless seed, lying fallow waiting, or struggling and bearing fruit, whether engaged in being birthed or dying.

Here in the Northern Hemisphere, it is the time of year for resurrection. No matter how much scientific knowledge we have about the growth patterns of plants and animals, no matter how confident we are that dead things do not come back to life, this time of year is a season of miracles. Easter persists as the time of resurrection and rebirth.

Eggs are a symbol of birth. Out of something that looks lifeless and dead, like a stone, comes a living being.

And the Easter bunny? Rabbits, of course, are known for their fertility because they breed quickly. There’s more to the story, though. Rabbits or hares connected life and death in ancient societies like Greece and Rome, Mesopotamia and Syria. And in Asia, there are stories of the hare living in the moon, associated with immortality, as the moon lives forever, yet dies and is reborn each month.

The lamb comes originally from the Passover, when lamb was central to the Seder celebration, and Jesus became known as “the lamb of God.” Though I prefer my interpretations of the lamb of spring that I explained earlier.

And just as I celebrated those lambs in West Virginia, it’s a good time to celebrate the human babies we welcomed this morning in the baby parade. Of course, each is their individual self, yet, in their fresh newbornness, they remind us of new starts and the persistence of the human spirit. That’s why we sing Hallelujah, or Alleluia.

Hallelujah isn’t always easy to sing. The words can catch in one’s throat when we aren’t inspired. Canadian Jewish Buddhist poet and singer-songwriter Leonard Cohen’s famous song of that name has such a catchy tune that people sing it almost lightly, but, my goodness, what heavy, heavy lyrics – it is a Leonard Cohen song, after all. Let me quote just a tiny piece of it:

even if it all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
with nothing on my lips but Hallelujah Hallelujah!

Even if it all went wrong. Even if it all went wrong. That’s faith. To keep singing Hallelujah even when you don’t feel it. When you’re at the place on the journey that is buried beneath the ground. Somehow, even in that, knowing that the spring will come again, but with no inkling of when, you can keep on and even croak out a Hallelujah.

Out of the depths and darkness of winter comes the light of spring.
Out of the deeply buried dead-looking bulb comes the daffodil.
From the aging sheep comes the newborn lamb.
From our own serious personal losses and wounds comes our growth and rebirth.
Out of the death of one comes life-giving freedom for many.
Out of the darkness of Good Friday there comes the triumphant light of Easter.

May we notice the changing of the seasons in the world and in our lives and may those changes be a source of blessing.

I invite you to join in an Affirmation of Life, I adapted from words by Max A. Coots, 20th century UU minister, poet and sculptor, and Alla Renee Bozarth, one of the first women ordained as an Episcopal minister in 1974. Rev. Bozarth is still alive, and Rev. Coots died in 2009; both white. You have a response that is printed in your order of service:

Let’s try it!

We need a celebration that speaks the Spring-inspired word about life and death, (about slavery and freedom, about the revelation of the divine,) … through all the cycling seasons, days, and years.

At Easter, we are alive again.
At Passover, we are free again.
At Ramadan, we are blessed again.
Alleluia

We need something to crack our hard, brown December husks and push life out from confinement of inner tombs to emancipation in the light of day.

At Easter, we are alive again.
At Passover, we are free again.
At Ramadan, we are blessed again.
Alleluia

We escape, bringing with us only what we carry, not waiting for the bread to rise. We will sing songs and stay together close for warmth. We will touch each other and tell our stories, knowing that through the touch and the tales, we are saved.

At Easter, we are alive again.
At Passover, we are free again.
At Ramadan, we are blessed again.
Alleluia

We must move the seasons of the self, so that Winter will not go on, so that Spring can come for us and in us.

At Easter, we are alive again.
At Passover, we are free again.
At Ramadan, we are blessed again.
Alleluia

We feel inspired by everything that points to the Holy, listening for angel songs and stories

At Easter, we are alive again.
At Passover, we are free again.
At Ramadan, we are blessed again.
Alleluia

Benediction

Change then, mourning, into praise
And for dirges, anthems raise
How our spirits soar and sing
How our hearts leap with the spring!
Alleluia!

May it be so today, in this precious moment.

---

SERMON INDEX

Most sermons during the past 23 years are available online through this website. Click on the index link above to find tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on a topic to go to that sermon.

PODCASTS

Podcasts of this and other sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them by clicking on the podcast link above or copying and pasting this link. https://itunes.apple.com/podcast/first-unitarian-universalist/id372427776

Podcast: Play in new window | Download

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button above.

Rev. Jonalu Johnstone
March 12, 2023
First UU Church of Austin
4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756
www.austinuu.org

We human beings have real limits that can make us vulnerable. Accepting what we can’t do allows us to ask for help and connect more deeply in community. Difficult idea, but let’s have fun with it.

Chalice Lighting

This is the flame we hold in our hearts as we strive for justice for everyone. This is the light we shine upon systems of oppression until they are no more. This is the warmth that we share with one another as our struggle becomes our salvation.

Call to Worship

BOOK OF LIFE
roddy bell-shelton biggs (they/them)

Open the book of life what do you see as you flip through the pages soaking it all up Where is the joy, the pain, the hope, the loss, the love? Now close it tight, place your hand over your heart, and Pause … Then open the book of life again …. Pause once more …. remember beloved be vulnerable and Begin Again In Love. Come let us worship together.

Affirming Our Mission

Together we nourish souls, transform lives, and do justice to build the Beloved Community.

Meditation

A LITANY OF WHOLEHEARTEDNESS
By Dawn Skjei Cooley

Because there have been times when shame has crushed our ability to be wholehearted
We let go of who we ought to be and embrace who we are.

Because we have not always had the courage to be imperfect
We let go of who we ought to be and embrace who we are.

Because we have struggled to have compassion for ourselves or others.
We let go of who we ought to be and embrace who we are.

Because we have been afraid of our own vulnerability
We let go of who we ought to be and embrace who we are.

Because we are sometimes too scared to live authentically
We let go of who we ought to be and embrace who we are.

Because we want to be whole-hearted people, confident in our worthiness and our belonging
We let go of who we ought to be and embrace who we are.

Reading

ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF LIMITATIONS
By Burton D. Carley

I wonder if the river ever despairs of its downward destiny,
and harbors a secret desire to flow uphill.

I wonder if winter yearns to be summer,
or if a flower wishes it could bloom out of season.

I wonder if silence would like to shout,
or if the sky wants to fall down and become the earth.

I wonder if the bird longs to become a rabbit,
or if the fish ever dreams of walking on the land.

I wonder if the mountains envy the valleys,
or if snow secretly covets the warmth of June.

I wonder if the moon complains that is it not the sun,
or if the stars envy the earth.

I wonder if rain prefers a cloudless sky,
or if grass tires of green and hopes for blue.

I wonder if spring really likes growing,
or if fall rages against its colorful dying.

I wonder if the world ever sighs after more than it is like you and I,
like you and I.

o Spirit of life, we struggle against our limitations. Teach us to accept them.

Amen.

Sermon

WHAT IF YOU CAN’T?

In our optimistic UU way, we like to say you can do anything you set your mind to. It’s not always true. There are some things you can’t do.

Let’s watch a short video about what our bodies can’t do. [VIDEO]

All this is kind of fun – to see what we can do, to see how our bodies are limited. Other stuff we can’t do is not so much fun. And admitting some of those falls into that category of vulnerability – our theme for the month.

Confession time. In my freshman year of college, I failed four classes. Calculus, Philosophy, Organic Chemistry, and I think some kind of history — I can’t even remember. Probably because I didn’t go to the class often enough. This is going to be a bit of an interaction sermon. I’m going to ask for your confessions, as well. Totally voluntary, of course. I’m going to ask you to stand up or wave your arm overhead if you can agree with this statement:

I tried something and failed.

Look around. It helps not to feel alone in that, doesn’t it?

What would it be like to own up to what you have failed at? You don’t have to do it; I’m just asking.

Does it make you feel uneasy? A little queasiness in the pit of your stomach? Do you want to present it as funny so that it doesn’t hurt so much? I do. It’s hard to acknowledge our failures.

I could give you a whole list of ways I’ve fallen short-I didn’t learn to ride a bicycle until I was 10, because I gave up when I was 6 or 7, and so did my parents. I got a D in Driver’s Ed. I have such a poor sense of direction that pre-GPS, I got lost going to many important occasions – a wedding rehearsal, a funeral, the airport. Not to mention being lost in the wilderness, which I have also done. I have fallen down a rock face while rock climbing – not fun. I have fallen and broken bones. I have failed tests, job interviews, event organizing. I have had manuscripts rejected, missed deadlines, lost money on stupid decisions. I have failed to reach goals I set. So many bad memories …

Yet, I am also glad I have had failure as part of my life. It has made me less afraid to try things, because I know that if I fail, if I can’t do it, I’ll live through it, probably. Failure has made me vulnerable, which I really needed to learn because I prefer to present myself as perfect. Failure has taught me what works by teaching me what doesn’t work — and introduced me to my limitations. Failure has helped me learn to ask for help.

It is true that for some people asking for help or being vulnerable may have a higher cost. You may need to be more cautious about who you ask for help, or when you open yourself vulnerably. That’s all real, based in part on the identities we carry in this world and in how we process feelings. So, I’m not saying everyone needs to confess all their failings. There are certainly some I will keep to myself.

But I want to challenge you – if you’re willing – to a little bit of vulnerability around what you can and cannot do.

So, I invite you to stand or wave your arms if you can agree to some statements:

I can’t reach the top shelf without standing on something. I can’t walk as far or run as fast as I used to.

I can’t drive.

I can’t stay organized.

I can’t get up early in the morning.

I can’t dance.

I can’t get along with some people in my family. I can’t always tell what I’m feeling.

I can’t always handle everything.

Some things we can’t do are easy to admit, and others are a lot harder. Almost all of them, though, are things that other people have struggled with, too.

That’s why people gather around their failures and frailties. Reasons that there are l2-Step groups to help people cope with the challenges of alcoholism and other addictions. Reasons for grief groups. Reasons for parent support groups.

We need one another at a deep and profound level. We need to see others dealing with what is confronting us and see the successes and failures so we have some idea what we might be able to do.

Here’s another statement that I invite you to stand or wave your arm if you agree:

It’s hard for me to ask for help.

So you’re not alone. Here’s another one. I try to help when someone asks.

There’s a little disconnect here. Most of us are fine with helping out, and a lot of us find it hard to ask. Some of the fault lies in lies we have been told, well-meaning lies, but lies nonetheless.

Our culture is individualistic. Many people expect themselves and others to pull themselves up by their bootstraps – whatever that means. The phrase originally meant that what was asked for was impossible. No one can pull themselves up by their bootstraps. Their bootstraps are near the ground, not up. It was sarcasm, folks, not wisdom. You can’t pull yourself up by your bootstraps. No one else can, either.

The individualism of our culture has hurt us more than helped us. And our religion – Unitarian Universalism – has fed into it. The picturesque cabin Thoreau built at Walden Pond. Emerson’s essay on “Self-Reliance.” The long lists of individual Unitarians, Universalists, and Unitarian Universalists who have achieved so much. The lie is that they did it alone. In every case they had help. Thoreau was close to town and had plenty of support. Emerson had whole crowds of admirers and coconspirators. Even if someone’s work has been done alone, they built on ideas, education, resources that they have gained from somewhere. As John Dunne told us, “No man is an island.” Neither is any woman or transgender person. No one is an island.

Maybe, then, we need some help in asking for help. Here are some useful phrases. Repeat after me:

“Could you please help me?”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Here’s what I need.”

A lot of times it can be useful to tell someone why we need help and exactly what we need. And sometimes, all we can do is to say, “Help!” And here’s the amazing thing! We don’t have to wait until we are desperate to ask for help. Maybe, you could ask someone to come with you when you go shopping for clothes to help pick out something that looks good on you. Or you could ask for someone to help you walk the dog. Or to study together. Practicing in those small situations might even help us ask for help in those harder situations, where we are a little more desperate. And maybe can’t even name what we need.

Take a moment and think of who you could ask for help.

You might think of a particular situation where you might need help – if you broke something, if you were sick, if you were sad and needed someone to talk to, if you didn’t understand what something meant. Try to come up with 5 people you could ask for help, maybe different people for different situations. [Pause, at least 30 seconds.] Now, find someone else near you and share with them your 5 people (their name or their roleteacher or boss, for example) who you could ask for help.

You’ve heard of the “The Little Engine that Could” that train engine that huffed and puffed its way up the hill. A pastor named Julian DeShazier wrote an article about church and ministers called, “The Little Engine that Needed Collaborators.” His point was about overfunctioning clergy, and the need for everyone in the church to share the load. The point has a broader application, though.

Similarly, as a volunteer working with a woman’s group many years ago, I had a supervisor who always sent a pair of us to do any task – some pretty hard tasks, pounding in stakes, clearing fields, greasing wheelchair lifts. She used to say, “One woman can’t do anything. Two women can do anything.” And while it might be possible for one woman to do something, I’ve learned that often it’s a lot more fun and a heck of a lot easier if there are two – or more – working on it.

We need one another, especially when we can’t do it alone.

Benediction

Go in peace, knowing that every imperfection, every failure, every vulnerability is part of you. Love every bit of yourself so that you can be loved completely by others. And when you need others, please ask for their help. Because we are only whole as a community when our interactions and relationships make us so.

Amen. Ase. Blessed Be.

SERMON INDEX

Most sermons during the past 23 years are available online through this website. Click on the index link above to find tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on a topic to go to that sermon.

PODCASTS

Podcasts of this and other sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them by clicking on the podcast link above or copying and pasting this link. https://itunes.apple.com/podcast/first-unitarian-universalist/id372427776

Podcast: Play in new window | Download

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button above.

Rev. Jonalu Johnstone
February 12, 2023
First UU Church of Austin
4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756
www.austinuu.org

“The Greatest Force in the Universe” — Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. called love the greatest force. But is love really a force? Is it really that strong? We’ll see what a few religious traditions have to say about it, and share some love.

Welcome

“Love is the greatest force in the universe. It is the heartbeat of the moral cosmos. [One] who loves is a participant in the being of God.” So reads a handwritten note from Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Chalice Lighting

This is the flame we hold in our hearts as we strive for justice for everyone. This is the light we shine upon systems of oppression until they are no more. This is the warmth that we share with one another as our struggle becomes our salvation.

Call to Worship

THIS IS THE HOME THAT LOVE MADE
Amanda Poppei

This is the home that love made.

It is full of the love that the founders felt, when they planned out these walls and raised these beams above us.

This is the home that love made.

It is full of the love of all who have worshipped here; those who have celebrated and grieved here; the babies dedicated, couples married, and family members mourned here.

This is the home that love made.

It is full of the love of our children, as they learn and laugh together, and our youth, as they grow into their own sense of purpose and meaning.

This is the home that love made.

It is full of the love of the staff who have served it, full of their hopes for this congregation, their hard work and their acts of dedication.

This is the home that love made.

It is full of the love of the choir, the love made so clear in the voices lifted here on Sunday morning.

This is the home that love made.

It is full of our love: the love of this community, despite our differences and our disagreements; the love that holds us together as a people.

This is the home that love made.

Can you feel it! May the love be with us always.

Amen

Affirming Our Mission

Together we nourish souls, transform lives, and do justice to build the Beloved Community.

Lesson

Ancient Greeks had different words for different kinds of love:

 

• • Sweetheart love – the Greeks called it eros. The kind of love that your parents might have for each other. Eros was the Greek god of love.

 

 

• • Friendship love – Do you have a best friend you love? When you love someone like a sibling, even if you’re not related. The Greeks called it philia.

 

 

• • Storge – Love your parents have for you and that you have back. By instinct. Unconditional and like no other kind of love. So, even when you do things they don’t like, or that make them angry, they still love you. Deep. Storge was Eros’s brother in Greek mythology .

 

 

• Agape – Biggest kind of love – love for everyone world.

 

Prayer

from the Rev. Lyn Cox
Sabbatical Pastoral Minister at the UU Congregation of Rockville, MD.

Spirit of Life and Love, known by many names and yet fully known by none, we give thanks for this time and this place of renewal. We give thanks for the ability to begin again: after the disaster, after the tragedy, after the loss, after meeting the challenge set before us.

Grant us the courage to continue on the journey, the courage to speak up for the well-being of others and ourselves and the planet. May we forgive each other when our courage falls short, and may we try again.

Grant us hearts to love boldly, to embody our faith and our values in living words and deeds. May our hearts open to embrace humility, grace, and reconciliation.

Grant us the ability to learn and grow, to let the Spirit of Love and Truth work its transformation upon us and within us.

Grant us the spirit of hospitality, the willingness to sustain a fit dwelling place for the holy that resides in all being.

Grant us a sense of being at peace in the world, even as we are in motion. Let us cultivate together the strength to welcome every kind of gift and all manner of ways to be on the journey together. To this we add the silent prayers of our hearts.

Meditation Readings

From Buddhism – The Dali Lama

To be genuine, compassion must be based on respect for the other, and on the realization that others have the right to be happy and overcome suffering just as much as you. On this basis, since you can see that others are suffering, you develop a genuine sense of concern for them.

… Genuine compassion should be unbiased. If we only feel close to our friends, and not to our enemies, or to the countless people who are unknown to us personally and toward whom we are indifferent, then our compassion is only partial or biased.

… , genuine compassion is based on the recognition that others have the right to happiness just like yourself, and therefore even your enemy is a human being with the same wish for happiness as you, and the same right to happiness as you. A sense of concern developed on this basis is what we call compassion; it extends to everyone, irrespective of whether the person’s attitude toward you is hostile or friendly.

[po 302-304, The Essential Dalai Lama: His Important Teachings]

 

---

 

From Christianity – I Corinthians 13:4-11, 13

Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never ends. But as for prophecies, they will come to an end; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will come to an end. For we know only in part, and we prophesy only in part; but when the complete comes, the partial will come to an end …. And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.

Sermon

Part 1

The greatest of these is love. The fiery prophets, the mystic saints, the Buddhist monks, all agree. Love is the greatest force in the universe.

But — Have you ever thought of love as mushy or weak-kneed? A fleeting feeling, instead of an unconquerable, eternal power? I admit I have. I have cringed at saccharine sweet pictures of love, especially this time of year. And I like sugar! I even like those little candy hearts with the silly expressions of love. Still, love a force?

The picture of love from Corinthians confuses me more patient, kind, not arrogant or boastful. Christianity and Buddhism alike urging us to love our enemies! Our enemies! The people who hate us and want to destroy us. How can a love like that be a force? Much less the greatest force in the universe, as Dr. King wrote in that note. It’s hard to align that slow patient kindness, that openness to potential destroyers with the idea of a force in the universe. Love that will not let go, that will defend its object and that will vanquish lesser motives and ideas. How does love do that?

Maybe it requires us to consider, not love itself, but the other side of the equation – force. Maybe we need to reconsider what force might be. When we think about force, we usually think about what might better be labeled violence. We think about someone making someone else do something. We think about force as physically pushing or threatening harm. We think about force as bullying or strong-arming coercion.

What if force were something different? What if force were like water? There’s an old Holly Near song – Holly Near is a bisexual singer-songwriter who was active in the women’s movement back in the day. The song went:

Can we be like drops of water falling on the stone?
Splashing, breaking, dispersing in air,
Weaker than stone by far, but be aware,
That as time goes by, the rock will wear away.

The idea is much older than the twentieth century. Taoists in ancient China often spoke of the power of being like water. Water, said Lao Tzu, overcomes the hardest substance and offers no resistance.

What if that is the patience of love, that it can wait while gently having its way? It does not insist on its way. It may wear the rock away, or if another pathway opens, it may flow around the rock, eroding the side of the rock instead of its upper surface. The water has flexibility, to flow where it can. And yet, to know where it must go … somehow. And its power cannot be dismissed. Anyone who has just come through an ice storm knows that. That’s water in its most angry and destructive form.

Perhaps love can be a force.

Sermon Part 2

This hymn comes from the same place that our reading does – the book of I Corinthians in the Bible, chapter 13. It’s one of the most famous readings of Christians, often read at weddings. It’s not about eros love, though, or storge love. The word “love” in I Corinthians 13 is agape, that big, huge love that encompasses everything and everyone. I Corinthians was written as a letter by Paul, a leader who had persecuted Christians until he had a conversion experience and became one. He was writing it to a church in the city of Corinth that was having trouble. Paul had founded that church about twenty years after Jesus died, and he went off to Ephesus where he heard stories about how the church members were not treating one another well and were arguing about all kinds of silly stuff. Churches do that sometimes, even today.

So Paul wrote to the church at Corinth telling them how they needed to treat on another in the church, with agape with patience, kindness and so on — with that full overwhelming love that flows through us to others, like water.

And the song we just sang whose words come from that letter tells us that not only is love powerful, it’s essential. If you are brave and inspirational, but you don’t do it with love, it comes to nothing. That’s what the words tell us.

Psychologically, love is necessary. Babies cannot thrive without it. Heck, that’s why we’ve got hormones that make us take care of them! Really, none of us thrive without love. We need to be touched with affection – hugs and kisses and tickles and cuddles. We need to know there are people we can count on, who will show up and help us get what we need. We need to know someone who will listen to our deepest, darkest secrets and still show up for us. What’s more, we need to give love as well as receive it. People who spend money on someone else instead of themselves are happier. And when you give to others, they often give back – whether money or love. “Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place,” wrote the Harlem Renaissance author Zora Neale Hurston.

And this is the kind of love we aim for in church. Do we always get there? No, we let people fall through the cracks and not receive the love they need. Sometimes, we break their hearts. But we keep trying. We ask for forgiveness We try to love through our ministerial staff. We try through the structures of the church, like our Caring Council. And, most importantly, we try to love – all of us — in our personal interactions – all of them – in the groups we are part of, in the meetings we attend, in all of our formal and informal relations. Because love has to flow like water. It can’t be just the formal structures. We want it to be everywhere.

The Rev. Jo Von Rue, minister of May Memorial UU Society in Syracuse, New York, told a story about her embarrassment as a poor child to be prompted kindly to wear deodorant. She writes:

Love shows up in soft, easy comfortable places: a new baby in the delivery room; a meal train when you’re ill; a hug, or the sweet smile of a stranger.

But here’s the thing: love shows up everywhere.

We don’t always recognize it, but love shows up even more in the messy, vulnerable places. Love shows up in the form of a friend seeking forgiveness. Love shows up every time we interrupt bad oppressive comments and jokes. Love shows up in complicated conversations-and for me, love showed up in the simplicity of a teacher awkwardly reminding me about deodorant.

And Paul tells us, you can’t just go through the motions. It shows. If you do not have love, the deeds do not carry the force or power that they would have with love. As Mother Teresa said, “it is more important to do small things with great love than to do great things with little love.”

Part 3

Most of you know something about our UU principles. We also have a set of sources. One of them is “Jewish and Christian teachings which call us to respond to God’s love by loving our neighbors as ourselves.” Of course, love is not only taught by Jews and Christians. Buddhists use the word compassion, but I think compassion is much like agape love – big love that we have to nurture. It doesn’t come as naturally as love for family or sweethearts, or even for our friends. We have to encourage it. To do that might take a lovingkindness meditation, as Buddhist practice.

May I be well and happy.
May you be well and happy.
May my family and friends be well and happy.
May those I do not know be well and happy.
May my enemies be well and happy.

Practice does make it easier, even if it stays really hard. We can practice everywhere, though, sending the energy of our love to clerks in the grocery store, to drivers we pass on the road, to people we see at work or school, to the people of Turkey and Syria and Ukraine, to those we see in the news. Practice opening our hearts and sending love. They may never know it, but it may change you.

Our religious tradition comes from two distinct but overlapping branches – Unitarianism and Universalism. For the Universalists, love was always central because they believed in a God so loving that they would never send anyone to hell. The Universalist God saved everyone. The Universalist God was what I learned God was when I was four years old in the Baptist church – love. If God is anything at all, I still believe that God must be love. The powerful, all-encompassing love that sustains us and everything and everyone in the universe.

Rev. Chris told you last week that the UUA is updating what’s called Article II – he’ll be leading a program about those II revisions next week following the service. And that proposal puts love squarely at the center of Unitarian Universalism, as it was always at the center of Universalism.

The Article II Commission said:

Love is the power that holds us together and is at the center of our shared values. We are accountable to one another for doing the work of our shared values thru the spiritual discipline of love.

Are we ready for a religion with love at its center? Love, I expressed publicly as justice, as Cornel West has reminded us. Love strong enough to cast out fear, to save us from foolish priorities like ego and greed. Love that connects and reweaves the fabric of our families, our culture, our nation, our world. A love that breaks down the barriers of politics and religion so that we can fully embrace even those who are far different from ourselves. A love that makes “we” bigger and more inclusive every day. A love that flows in us, through us, around us, so that we are awash in it.

Benediction

Omid Safi, liberationist professor of Islamic Studies

Go, be your best self. Be your most beautiful self. Be your luminous self. Be your most generous self. Be your most radically loving self. And when you fall short of that – as we all do, as we all have – bounce back and return. And return again. There is a grace in this returning to your luminous self.

SERMON INDEX

Most sermons during the past 23 years are available online through this website. Click on the index link above to find tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on a topic to go to that sermon.

PODCASTS

Podcasts of this and other sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them by clicking on the podcast link above or copying and pasting this link. https://itunes.apple.com/podcast/first-unitarian-universalist/id372427776

Podcast: Play in new window | Download

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button above.

Rev. Jonalu Johnstone
January 8, 2023
First UU Church of Austin
4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756
www.austinuu.org

The past has shaped us. We rest in the present. We look forward to the future. How do they interact together to help us find our center?

Chalice Lighting

This is the flame we hold in our hearts as we strive for justice for everyone. This is the light we shine upon systems of oppression until they are no more. This is the warmth that we share with one another as our struggle becomes our salvation.

Call to Worship

LET ASTONISHMENT BE POSSIBLE
by Rev. Gretchen Haley

Whatever you have come in
anticipating
Whatever you expect
Or worry
For our world, for the future
For our lives-
Let it go

Make space in your heart to be surprised
Make room in your soul
For a new story to take shape
Let astonishment be possible

At this life that remains a miracle
Imagine here the bursting of joy
Relentless and resilient
Coming in waves
Washing over us
with music,
and story
silence,

and still this dreaming together
Being hope for each other
and courage
to believe
in this new day dawning
for us all.

Affirming Our Mission

Together we nourish souls, transform lives, and do justice to build the Beloved Community.

Meditation Reading

WE ARE ABLE
by Vijaya Balan

Things happen, moments are created, faces are remembered and feelings are tightly grasped within the dry skin of our cracked hands,
Cracked hearts too maybe?

Where do we go but forward,
Remembering absent friends, lost loves, broken dreams and a hope to bury it all in that dark backyard behind our weathered but sturdy home,

We will move on, forge new paths, break new barriers, repeat a thing or two,
but oh well,

We all have some familiar cycles in our life right?
We are resilience built on the foundation of faith and belief, We are unwritten pages, with past chapters that can fill a library, a library that none might visit,
And we will still go ahead and do everything that we want to, regardless of what anyone else ever said,

We are beings with a field of uncertainty surrounded by determination at the most unexpected moments,
Love and let go, love and cherish, love and be broken, love and not expect anything in return, love and be loved back a 1000 times,

We are the sum of billions of atoms,
We are the moments we create and the things that happen, We are the beliefs of more than thousands of faiths in this world,

We are the tragedies of past, the conundrums of the present and the triumphs of tomorrow,
We are able,
We are capable of all of them,
We are capable and able.

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Austin UU History Lesson

WHERE DO WE COME FROM?
– Leo Collas

Unitarianism was brought to Austin by the Reverend Edwin Miller Wheelock in 1868.

Wheelock was a Harvard educated lawyer who also graduated from Harvard Divinity School as a Unitarian minister. He was a friend of Ralph Waldo Emerson, and was even open to Transcendentalism.

He served in the Civil War as a chaplain in the Union army, and afterward worked with the Freedmen’s Bureau in the gulf coast area of Louisiana and Texas. He was married and had 2 children.

His specialty was in education. He developed curriculums to teach formerly enslaved children how to read. His work was very effective, and in 1868, the governor of Texas moved him to Austin and appointed him as the first Superintendent of Schools. This may just sound like a nice, progressive career path, but there is a really interesting backstory to all of this that makes it a really amazing story.

Wheelock was a devoted abolitionist. He was passionate about what we now call “human rights” and was outspoken about the immoral institution of slavery. Here is the story about that.

Soon after he got his first Unitarian ministerial appointment, in Dover Massachusetts, he delivered a stirring sermon supporting the raid on the federal armory at Harpers Ferry Virginia by fellow abolitionist John Brown. Brown, in October 1859, raided the Federal Armory intending to start a slave liberation movement that would spread to the southern states. It wasn’t well planned, and the enslaved people it was meant to liberate didn’t exactly know what was going on, so it failed. Brown was tried for treason and was hanged on December 2, 1859, the first person executed for treason in the history of the United States.

Wheelock’s sermon made him kinda famous. He was asked to speak in Boston, and his sermon was printed in newspapers.

Wheelock’s sermon didn’t pull any punches on the topic of slavery: “withholding the key of knowledge, abrogating the marriage relation, rending families asunder at the auction block, makes the State that protects it a band of pirates, and the church that enshrines it a baptized brothel.” The State of Virginia put a $1500 bounty on his capture – dead or alive – for treason. Luckily for Wheelock, the civil war broke out in 1861. He immediately enlisted and became a chaplain in the Union Army.

That’s how he got appointed to work with the Freedmen’s Bureau during reconstruction.

But think about it. Here is this man who was once hated throughout the South, somehow able to work with both the Southern gulf states and the Federal government to do something that the people of the South found unimaginable – teaching reading to those they had enslaved! He was able to do it, and do it successfully. And he got a high-ranking position in Texas from Governor Pease – who was a former slave owner!

Wheelock had some mighty diplomatic skills.

He served in a number of high-ranking jobs in Texas government, including as the Superintendent of the School for the Blind. Texas was not really ready for liberal religion at that time and Wheelock knew that. He went to Spokane Washington in 1887 to form the Unitarian Society of Spokane and serve as its minister for 2 years. He came back to Austin and in 1891 started a Unitarian ministry here. That ministry survived Wheelock’s death in 1901 (he was 72), and continued through WW1. Rev. Wheelock’s daughter, Emilie, carried the mantle of Unitarianism in Austin after her father’s death and for the rest of her life. From what I have gathered, she had a lot of her Father’s diplomacy and courage. Emilie was married to a British man by the name of John D. Howson, who was associated with the International Great Northern Railroad and the Austin National Bank. They had 1 child, Edwin, who died as an infant in 1889. Emilie’s great social justice passion was for getting the vote for women. She was involved in every organization that promoted women’s rights, and she was a leader of many of them. Emilie was a charter member of the Austin Woman’s Club and was involved in the formation of the Texas Federation of Women’s Clubs. After years of working toward women’s suffrage, Emilie was 59 years old when the 19th Amendment was ratified in 1920.

Austin Unitarianism survived quietly, evolving after WW1 into the Community Church of Austin, which ceased in the winter of 1951 when it morphed into the Unitarian Fellowship of Austin. Services were held in people’s homes initially. Among the founding members was Emilie Wheelock Howson, who was by then 90 years old.

Emilie called in all of her favors to get things jump started for this church. I think she knew it was going to be her last hurrah. The YWCA gave the fellowship space to meet, then the Texas Federation of Women’s Clubs did. Other Women’s organizations gave equipment and administrative assistance.

Finally, in 1954, the Unitarian Fellowship of Austin had grown strong enough to call its first minister, and become incorporated as the First Unitarian Church of Austin. There were 66 families committed to the new church, with 81 members, and it continued to grow.

Sadly, in 1957, Emilie Wheelock Howson died. She was 96 years old. But she wasn’t done helping this congregation. She left this congregation a legacy of $100,000 (equivalent of about $1M today) which was used to purchase land and build a church here at this site. The building was dedicated in January of 1961 with “Howson Hall” named in Emilie’s honor.

Rev. Wheelock and his daughter Emilie played key roles in the forming of this church, but they were not the only ones. It was their spirit, their determined commitment to the spiritual practice of social justice that helped inspire others. I’m certain there were many individuals who inspired them.

After Howson Hall was built in 1961, the classroom wing was built in 1968, and in 1987 this beautiful sanctuary was added. There are many stories about all the things that have taken place here, many people who have worked toward compassion and justice in this place from racial integration, to LGBTQ rights, moral treatment of immigrants and refugees, reproductive justice, the list goes on. In 1961 when the initial church building was new, the Austin American Statesman published an article entitled “Unitarian Service Features Dancing”. I’m sure that caused a collective clutch of the pearls around the city. But little did they know, we were just getting started.

Sermon

Thank you, Leo. It’s important to hear and know the stories of our past. To find ourselves, our center, which is this month’s theme, we need to learn from the past, to rest in the present and to look to the future. Or, as the poet said earlier, “We are the tragedies of past, the conundrums of the present and the triumphs of tomorrow.” Of course, we are also the triumphs of the past, the joys of the present and the uncertainties of tomorrow.

I no longer believe that my biography begins with my birth. I can’t tell my personal story without also telling you about my mother and my father, who met in the military and courted going to Broadway shows on USO tickets and who gave me both my genes and a nurturing environment. My story even includes my grandparents, who shaped my parents. Would I be who I am if my mother’s parents hadn’t run a dairy in Oklahoma? If her grandparents hadn’t moved to Oklahoma from Illinois and Iowa? If my father’s father hadn’t come to Maine from Canada? If my father hadn’t been adopted? My beginnings go further back in time than I can even recount, or recall, because I only know them from the stories other people have told me.

We create our stories of ourselves. All of us have stories we tell over and over about our lives – the story of how we met our spouse, of how we chose our career, of the birth of our child, of the death of our parent. We tell our stories to reinforce our experience and so that we can understand better what has happened to us and who we are. This is true for trauma, as well as joy, failure as well as success. It’s why we tell stories of those we love after they die – we are inscribing those stories on our hearts and minds so that our loved one lives on. We really only learn from our experience when we have translated and refined our story. Without putting it into a form, it’s hard to learn from experience. We need the story to make meaning out of the experience, to understand what has happened, to learn so we can move on, whether in the same or in a different way. Commentator David Brooks has written: “If you don’t have a real story, you don’t have a real self.”

We do the same thing on communal levels. Our families have stories, our church does, as Leo shared a bit this morning, our nation does. None of these stories are idle or random. They establish the essence of the civilization, defining how life is to be, how people are to act, and what has the most value. The past is as much story as history – so it matters if and how we include the 1619 arrival of enslaved people in this country, the genocide and land-grabbing against indigenous people, the colonization, the Civil War. None of these stories is singular, they are collections of individual stories, and they always have a particular perspective.

The foundational stories of the Pilgrims coming to Massachusetts have shaped us, both as Americans and as Unitarian Universalists, since the Pilgrims are our direct religious ancestors. Since we’re so deeply influenced by such stories, we need to hear the others, like the Wampanoang people’s story, since they were there when the Pilgrims arrived.

History is never as simple as, “Look at this perfect hero,” or “That evil person ruined everything.” We’d like it to be so, yet the stories really are nuanced, full of imperfect heroes and a tug of war between good and evil where the sides cannot always be identified until much later.

White UU theologian Rebecca Parker gives us perspective on just how broken our world is – and note, she wrote this in the early days of the 21st century, long before the current crises:

We are living in a post-slavery, post-Holocaust, postVietnam, post-Hiroshima world. We are living in the aftermath of collective violence that has been severe, massive, and traumatic. The scars from slavery, genocide, and meaningless war mark our bodies. We are living in the midst of rain forest burning, the rapid death of species, the growing pollution of the air and water, and new mutations of racism and violence.

Parker’s phrase “post-slavery, post-Holocaust, postVietnam, post-Hiroshima world” reminds us of the significance of what we call history. She goes on to tell us that history has left scars. Then, she locates us in the particular context of our present. Today we would need to add post-9/11, post-Jan 6, and living amidst the spread of viruses previously unknown.

Scottish-American moral philosopher Alasdair Maclnttyre says that I can’t answer the question “What am I to do?” until “I can answer the prior question, “Of what story or stories do I find myself a part?””

As consequential, powerful and unavoidable as stories are, they can also mislead us, even trap us in a lie. That’s why we need to continually re-examine, re-tell, re-write the stories.

Have you ever been with siblings and told childhood stories, only to find that you all remember what happened differently? You could consider that problematic – if our memory was like a video-recording that we could trust to be objective. But it’s not. Our memories include our emotional responses, as well as sensory data; our judgments, as well as our observations. Which is why our sibs don’t agree with our memories of that Thanksgiving years ago. We did not live through the same experience.

The advantage to the way we encode long-term memory is that we can rewrite our stories – either to include new information that we didn’t know before or to look at our lives from a different perspective. Psychologists call it narrative therapy, a process of telling a story that grounds a particular problem, then finding new ways of seeing that story, and retelling it, so that the problem is minimized.

Here’s a simple example from UU minister Amanda Poppei. She writes:

I used to believe a story that I was a bad driver. I don’t like driving on highways, lance hit a parking post in a garage, I needed the examiner to explain a three-point turn during my driver’s test. All those things are true, and so the story must be true, too. But over time, I’ve worked on hearing a different story. This story is the one about how I drive all through DC, handling traffic circles like a pro. It’s about good parallel parking skills, and always wearing my seatbelt and using my blinker. It’s about passing my driver’s test the first time, since I did, after all, know how to do a three-point turn. Those things are all true, too, so the story must be true.

[https://docs.google.com/document/d/lBcdD3- HrGkRPgOIXre8mup4a7wuujQJwlkHNdsMKH4Y/edit]

The stories we tell ourselves are interpretative at least as much as reality based. We have some freedom to choose our stories. Not absolute freedom. If your stories drift far enough from real facts, then they become ridiculous fantasies, like the biography of George Santos.

“A tree, whatever the circumstances, does not become a legume, a vine, or a cow,” explains biracial Ghanian Brit Kwame Anthony Appiah in the Ethics of Identity. “The reasonable middle view is that constructing an identity isa good thing … but that the identity must make some kind of sense.”

[qtd. in https://www.theguardian.com/world/commentisfree/2015/jun /12/rachel-dolezal-black-identity-civil-rights-leader

We don’t get to choose everything about our story because we are shaped by who we are born as and the people we have come from and by the people who are entangled in our lives and memories.

But — since we have stashed emotional and interpretive content in with our objective and sense-based data, we can pull the whole mess out and pull apart what’s there and ask ourselves, “Is what I believe to be true about myself, about my life, really based in truth, or have I distorted it? Have I learned something else? Do I need a new story?”

Part of the challenge is that when new facts we encounter don’t fit into our story, we tend to ignore the facts rather than reconfigure the story. That’s just how our brains are made, so we have to work to overcome that impulse to dismiss what doesn’t fit.

None of us is one thing. None of us has a single story. Your church certainly doesn’t have a single story; nor does our nation. Stories are shaped by who has the power to tell them, by the perspectives they include – and exclude – by the visions they cast and the boundaries they draw. And stories shape us, which means we need to continually examine our stories for truth, for completeness, and for how they serve – or fail to serve – us.

“Stories can break. And stories can repair,” said Nigerian novelist Chimamanda Adichie. Indeed. Stories can break. And stories can repair.

Returning to a past that has been distorted or moving ahead to a future that has never been more than a dream. We are going through a time in our nation where the illusion of a shared national story has evaporated. Recognizing the illusion for what it is, maybe we are freed to shift into the future with the scales removed from our eyes.

We need a process of sorting out meaning. We have to see what we want to claim from the past and how to recast it to serve the future. We have to decide which relics are worn out and which fresh enthusiasms we wish to pursue. Knowing more about the past and the present allows us to make more reasonable choices for the future.

The present is more than the dividing line between past and future. Nigerian storyteller Ben Okri says:

… we live by stories, we also live in them. One way or another we are living the stories planted in us early or along the way, or we are also living the stories we planted – knowingly or unknowingly – in ourselves. We live stories that either give our lives meaning or negate it with meaninglessness. If we change the stories we live by, quite possibly we change our lives.

[A Way of Being Free (London: Phoenix House, 1997), 46, qtd in King, The Truth about Stories, 153]

We hold the past in our present, and sometimes need to let it go. The great Black American writer James Baldwin writes: “It took many years of vomiting up all the filth I’d been taught about myself, and half-believed, before I was able to walk on the earth as though I had a right to be here.”

Only when we have sorted our past can we fully be present in our present and look to the future. UU’s love Utopian visions. Thumb through the hymnal sometime if you don’t believe me. We will never reach those visions – the Beloved Community — until we have better understood our past and acknowledged our present.

That’s true for us as individuals, too.

May we treasure what we can of the past, acknowledge the rest of it, rest contentedly in the present, as we move towards the future we envision together.

Benediction

THAT WHICH IS WORTHY OF DOING
By Steve J Crump

That which is worthy of doing, create with your hands.
That which is worthy of repeating, speak with a clear voice.
That which is worthy of remembering, hold in your hearts.
And that which is worthy of living, go and live it now.

SERMON INDEX

Most sermons during the past 23 years are available online through this website. Click on the index link above to find tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on a topic to go to that sermon.

PODCASTS

Podcasts of this and other sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them by clicking on the podcast link above or copying and pasting this link. https://itunes.apple.com/podcast/first-unitarian-universalist/id372427776

Podcast: Play in new window | Download

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button above.

Rev. Jonalu Johnstone
December 11, 2022
First UU Church of Austin
4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756
www.austinuu.org

Don’t we all love Christmas? And Advent? And music? Maybe yes, maybe no. We’ll hear the wonder of music as we consider the season and its mixed history and present.

Chalice Lighting

This is the flame we hold in our hearts as we strive for justice for everyone. This is the light we shine upon systems of oppression until they are no more. This is the warmth that we share with one another as our struggle becomes our salvation.

Call to Worship

I will light candles this Christmas,
Candles of joy despite all the sadness,
Candles of hope where despair keeps watch,
Candles of courage for fears ever present,
Candles of peace for tempest-tossed days,
Candles of grace to ease heavy burdens,
Candles of love to inspire all my living,
Candles that will burn all year long.

– Rev. Dr. Howard Thurman

Affirming Our Mission

Together we nourish souls, transform lives, and do justice to build the Beloved Community.

Moment for Beloved Community

This morning in our moment for Beloved Community, I want to make the case against a moment for Beloved Community. Not because Beloved Community is not valuable or a worthy goal; rather, because Beloved Community is so valuable and such a worthy goal.

Beloved Community will always be aspirational. No particular church or community is, itself, a Beloved Community, no matter how much any of us loves and appreciates our particular community. Rather, Beloved Community is more like the Kindom of God, not Kingdom, but Kindom, a place of relatedness, a place without violence, war, racism, sexism, oppression, homophobia, transphobia, homelessness, hunger, poverty, or climate change. A place where we live sustainably and generously and everyone – of every race, ability, gender and age can thrive, peaceful, happy, healthy, and safe. A place where we grow and offer one another our best selves, always.

So, it’s wonderful that this congregation has set aside this moment during each service to contemplate different aspects of Beloved Community. However, isn’t our whole service about the aspiration of Beloved Community? Isn’t our mission Beloved Community? Don’t we aim to encompass Beloved Community in all that we do as church?

Probably not. That, though is the ideal.

Beloved Community is not a moment; it’s a way of life. So, Rev. Chris, Rev. Erin and I – along with some other staff members — have been thinking about how we make the whole service and the whole church more infused with Beloved Community. We have been attending to the sources we draw from, the readings we share, the ideas we talk about, and the learnings we offer. We have been inviting guest speakers with BIPOC identities. We have begun encouraging use of the UUA’s “Widening the Circle of Concern,” a report from the Commission on Institutional Change as a guideline for examining the racist and antiracist practices that exist within our own institution. We will be offering a Trans Inclusion curriculum in January. We want to view everything that we do through the lens of anti-oppression work and the goal of Beloved Community.

Now, during the holiday season, as has been the tradition, we will not have moments of Beloved Community as part of the service. We may bring back the moments from time to time, or with some consistency, and we may not. We will, though, keep working toward Beloved Community. And we are all happy to hear your feedback about this work and how it’s best done. Because we learn from one another.

Readings

FOR THE DARKNESS OF WAITING
By Janet Morley

For the darkness of waiting
of not knowing what is to come
of staying ready and quiet and attentive,
we praise you O God

For the darkness and the light
are both alike to you
For the darkness of staying silent
for the terror of having nothing to say
and for the greater terror
of needing to say nothing,
we praise you O God

For the darkness and the light
are both alike to you
For the darkness of loving
in which it is safe to surrender
to let go of our self-protection
and to stop holding back our desire,
we praise you O God

For the darkness and the light
are both alike to you
For the darkness of choosing
when you give us the moment
For the darkness and the light
are both alike to you
to speak, and act, and change,
and we cannot know what we have set in motion,
but we still have to take the risk,
we praise you O God

For the darkness of hoping
in a world which longs for you,
for the wrestling and the labouring of all creation
for wholeness and justice and freedom,
we praise you O God

For the darkness and the light
are both alike to you

 

---

 

THE MUSIC OF THE SPHERES

The music of the spheres.
A harmonious universe – like a harp.

Its rhythms are the equal,
repeated seasons.
The beating of the heart.

Day/night. The going and
returning of migratory birds.

The cycles of stars and corn.

The mimosa that unfolds by
day and folds up again by night.

Rhythms of moon and tide.
One single rhythm in planets, atoms, sea,

And apples that ripen and fall,
and in the mind of Newton.

Melody, accord, arpeggios
The harp of the universe.
Unity behind apparent
multiplicity.

That is the music.

– ERNESTO CARDENAL

Sermon

The Wonder and Controversy of Music and Advent
Rev. Jonalu Johnstone

As a child, I took piano lessons from Mr. Cleveland Fisher, organist at a prominent Washington, D.C., Episcopal church. Every year early in December, he’d admonish me, “You’re probably already singing Christmas carols at your church.”

Mr. Fisher was accusing me — and most of the Christian world — , including the stores as well as churches, of singing out of season. At his church, they reserved Christmas carols until the 24th of December and sang them through the official Christmas season, until the Feast of the Epiphany in January. During the period of Advent, the month before Christmas, they sang Advent hymns, like “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel,” and – surely, there’s some other Advent hymn, but I’m betting few of us would recognize it. Our choir is doing Advent music today, though. Two points for them! The idea is that in this season of Advent, we are waiting for the birth of the child. He’s not here yet, we’re not even certain if he will come, so we’re in a time of hope and prayer and quiet, waiting.

Of course, the Advent-Christmas liturgical divide is only one of the many ways Christmas songs stir controversy. In the early years of this country, the Puritans and Pilgrims – our own spiritual ancestors — hated Christmas music. Actually, they hated Christmas, making it illegal in Massachusetts until 1681. Even after it was legalized, it was at best tolerated. Schools in Boston stayed open on Christmas Day until 1870.

Today, there’s less open hatred of Christmas spirit and Christmas music by Christians, though non-Christians may tire of it. And people of various faiths find the ubiquitous strains of Christmas spirit blared in malls and doctors’ offices obnoxious. Anybody here? On the other hand, you have those who keep Sirius or Pandora tuned in to the Christmas station – whatever that is – from Thanksgiving through New Years without fail. The variety of Christmas music is staggering from Bing Crosby, who recorded more than 22,000 different seasonal songs, to the Trans-Siberian Orchestra, from cathedral choirs to the “Christmas Tree Farm,” by Taylor Swift. Someone’s buying all that Christmas music. And someone else is hating it.

Perhaps it shouldn’t be a surprise that Christmas music engenders conflict. There may be nothing more controversial in religious communities than music. Ask any church that replaced their choir with a praise band.

Even in this congregation, where we’re pretty mellow, and our music department led by Brent is deeply appreciated, not everyone wholeheartedly embraces all the music. We all have different tastes. And, like all religious communities, we have to guard the lines between entertainment, performance and spiritual depth. Because, though music can stir the soul, the music in a service is never simply performance, or entertainment, but exists at the service of worship – which depending on your philosophy and feelings, mayor may not include applause. I know there are moments when I want to simply hear that final note fade into the room.

Plus, I know that’s “worship” is a controversial word in UU congregations. Who or what do we worship? We ask. For me, it’s simply an acknowledgement of something beyond – something beyond the musicians and the gathered congregation, some inimitable something, nameless, and yet real, almost tangible.

Spirit. The Holy. The Divine.

Because the words we say express meaning, but rarely touch the actual experience of Spirit. That sometimes requires the arts. Twentieth century Russian abstract artist Wassily Kandinsky explored the connection between art and spirit. He talks about three effects of color: physical, psychological and spiritual effects. You can tell by what he writes that his understanding of art weaves together with his experience of music, a passion since his childhood, as both his parents played piano professionally. Like color, music has the same array of effects – physical, psychological and spiritual.

Physically, music is vibration travelling through the air to our ears, and even to other parts of our bodies. People who are deaf, for example, feel music, so can dance as gracefully as those who hear. Babies as young as five months move to music without ever having a dance lesson; their bodies are part of what they hear. Kandinsky writes that painting affects more than the eye, but rather all five senses. Music is the same – it affects more than the ear.

Psychologically, music lowers the stress hormone cortisol, while raising endorphins, oxytocin, and dopamine, diminishing pain and giving pleasure. This hormone interaction can even stimulate that sense of chills you get sometimes with an extraordinary performance. Anyone else get chills with music from time to time? From the physical experience of hearing music, we can actually become more relaxed and happier. Music can even boost our immune system.

The music itself may create a particular mood, evoking the feelings and experience the composer put into it. Music also creates associations – maybe you heard that song at your loved one’s memorial service and it makes you sad. Maybe it reminds you of a particular place or a fictitious landscape or a time in your life or a dream you have for the future. Those associations are personal and vary considerably from one hearer to another.

Music is more than a piece of sound; it is an experience, which blends into the spiritual. The deep breathing required for singing produces many of the same benefits as meditation. Indian mystic Osha said: “Music is the easiest method of meditation. Whoever can let [the]mself dissolve into music has no need to seek anything else to dissolve into.” And it’s a heck of a lot easier to focus your brain on music than it is to make your mind go blank.

Kandinsky calls the elusive nature of art the “spiritual vibrations.” Since music is physical vibration, could it also be spiritual vibration? Pythagoras and other classical philosophers hypothesized a “music of the spheres,” a celestial harmony that came from the orbiting of stars and planets, a delicate music not audible on earth, but ringing through the universe. More than one ancient myth tells of a god or goddess singing the world into being.

Since the first ancient Veda was chanted, music has been part of spiritual pursuits. Australian aborigines blow their didgeridoos. Jews and Muslims sing their religious texts. The Christian tradition claims Gregorian chant and Bach masses, gospel music and Duke Ellington’s “Sacred Blue.”

Music has a presence that works in our bodies, minds and hearts beyond and outside of words. It smooths the rough edges of life, awakens our hearts, focuses our preoccupied minds. It’s as if music has its own spirit that speaks to ours.

And so does Christmas itself, of course. We speak of having the Christmas Spirit? What can be said of it?

It’s never been unambiguous. Many of us UU’s have mixed feelings about the Christmas story. Too many angels. And virgin birth, one of the standards of ancient time — Ra, Horus, and the pharaoh Amanophis in Egypt, the Phrygian god Attis, the Greek Dionysus, Krishna in India, even the Roman Julius Caesar – all born of virgins. And the Greeks regularly gave their heroes gods for fathers – Pythagoras, Alexander the Great, Augustus – all fathered by gods. Many of the other features of the story occurred in pagan traditions first.

What’s more, the two main stories of the birth – one in Matthew and one in Luke – don’t seem to agree on much of anything: Matthew has wise men and Luke has the manger and the shepherds. The usual practice is to mash the stories together for the full-blown extravaganza and cast of thousands – angels and animals, shepherds and magi, stars and stables. Makes a better Christmas pageant, parts for everyone – an experience we’ll share next week.

Nor do the stories align with reality too effectively.

And yet, the story has spoken to people through the ages and across cultures, the story of a child born in a humble setting, proclaimed God incarnate. The miracle of a baby’s birth brought angels and stars in the sky, and shepherds from the field, admiration from high and low. The story has opened hearts. And inspired music in every genre and century of the past two millennia. Somehow, the music reminds us that stories need not be factually true in every detail to have a deeper spiritual truth, to inspire us and remind us of our values – like hope, love, joy and peace.

There’s one more problem we find with the Christmas songs and stories. How do we move to a celebration of birth, of hope, of joy, when so much that is in our world evokes sadness, confusion, anger, fear, or rancor?

I’m going to take a step back into traditional Advent for a moment because Advent acknowledges what a messy world we live in. The prophets are read at Advent rant on about the horrors we experience – how the adversaries surround us, how darkness covers the earth, how warfare, oppression and sin afflict humanity, how the world needs someone to straighten it out. Not much has changed in these hundreds and thousands of years. We may not quake in fear in response to the sun’s decline. Instead, our fear centers on elections, court decisions, gun violence, racism and antisemitism, global climate change and domestic and foreign terrorism.

Advent reminds us of our helplessness in the face of all kinds of limitations – the utter inhumanity we can have towards one another, as well as our own smallness in the scheme of the universe. So, how do we get from there to the celebration of Christmas?

In the Christian tradition, that comes with the birth of a child. It can come in other ways, though. With a change of heart. With a new insight. With support from a friend. It can come with the birth of a child. I have a friend whose grandbaby was born more than 100 days early, small enough to fit in the palm of a hand. Seeing the survival and thriving of that little baby helps me know the resilience of the human spirit, and that miracles do happen in this world.

One way the bridge from Advent to Christmas often comes is through the music. When our hearts are touched and opened, we may may find our souls soothed in troubled times. We may find the link that takes us from the strange mix of hope and despair that characterizes Advent to the true joy of Christmas.

Despite those staunch traditionalist Christians like Mr. Fisher who do their best each year to fend off Christmas carols until as late in December as possible, we Americans tend to plow right through from Thanksgiving, or Halloween, to Christmas joy, without touching the mire of Advent. And here’s where those traditionalists have a point. We try to shift into the Christmas spirit – the feasting and gifts and songs – without the reflection on our human condition. That’s when Christmas can morph into a season of values misspent – to debauchery and drunkenness and family fights and maybe even tragedy.

But, if we let Christmas come while acknowledging and holding the challenges that Advent brings us, then we allow transformation to overtake us – and, we are ready to truly celebrate.

Our challenge is to face squarely the world we live in with its division, its violence, and its oppression, and hold onto hope, peace, joy, and love.

That may sound impossible, but if you can do it, even a little, the hope, peace, joy and love transform you and the spirit of Christmas does rise up in gratitude and rejoicing. If you can picture that child who should not have been born yet who breathes on her own, you can hold onto hope. If you can remember hugging your own child, or parent, or lover, as if your very life depended on it, you can hold onto love. If you have known a time when the tears you cried were a deep welling beyond sorrow that came from loving life, you can hold onto joy. If you can summon the moment when you heard that perfect harmony, you can hold onto peace.

Even in the presence of tragedy, hope, peace, joy and love triumph.

So, we sing. We sing whether or not anyone claims we’re out of season, by the calendar or by the news story. As Leonard Bernstein said: “This will be our reply to violence: to make music more intensely, more beautifully, more devotedly than ever before.” We sing because we know that hope, love, joy and peace are ours and are the only way that we will survive and find comfort. Always. Amen.

SERMON INDEX

Most sermons during the past 22 years are available online through this website. Click on the index link above to find tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on a topic to go to that sermon.

PODCASTS

Podcasts of this and other sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them by clicking on the podcast link above or copying and pasting this link. https://itunes.apple.com/podcast/first-unitarian-universalist/id372427776

Podcast: Play in new window | Download

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button above.

Rev. Jonalu Johnstone
November 13, 2022
First UU Church of Austin
4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756
www.austinuu.org

Octavia Butler writes in “The Parable of the Sower” that the only lasting truth is change. In this week after the election, we’ll consider change and its impact in our political system and in our lives. “All that you touch, you Change. All that you Change Changes you.

Chalice Lighting

This is the flame we hold in our hearts as we strive for justice for everyone. This is the light we shine upon systems of oppression until they are no more. This is the warmth that we share with one another as our struggle becomes our salvation.

Call to Worship

By Katie Kardarian-Morris

Here we have come into this sacred space –
quieter now with our readiness
Hushed voices, hoping, trusting for so many things:
For connection, for communion
For inspiration, for information
For healing, for wholeness,
For words, for music,
For celebration and consolation,
Here we have come into this space bringing all of who we are,
Let us be willing … however we are changed.

Affirming Our Mission

Together we nourish souls, transform lives, and do justice to build the Beloved Community.

Moment for Beloved Community

In this post-election moment, it seems a good time to remember why we, as religious people in religious community, care about elections. There are some easy answers – that as Unitarian Universalists, we value democracy; that we want to make real our values in the world.

I also want to remind us why we don’t care about elections. In his blog this week, Rev. Chris told us something about the specific legal limits. I want to remind us of the larger limits, the limits that Divinity sets. We as a religious community are not concerned with power for the sake of power, for obtaining or maintaining our own privileges. It’s easy to be tempted by power, to get drawn into winning and losing and strategic choices. As religious people, though, we are called to a higher standard – to examine carefully, to not deal so much in strategy, or our personal bottom line, as to deal in the moral bottom line. The Rev. Dr. William Barbour of the Poor People’s Campaign has written:

[A] moral movement claims higher ground in partisan debate by returning public discourse to our deepest moral and constitutional values …. We cannot allow so-called conservatives to hijack the powerful language of faith; neither can we let so-called liberals pretend that moral convictions are not at play in public policy debates. Every budget is a moral document or it is an immoral one.

[The Third Reconstruction: Moral Mondays, Fusion Politics and the Rise of a New Justice Movement, p. 128]

A political group focuses on what can be achieved, the art of the possible. As a religious people, we are focused on bigger issues of values and principles, the broader questions of how we ought to live in the world and what the world ought to be like. Part of our obligation as a religious community, as a prophetic community, is to notice and name right and wrong. We’re at a place in history where those qualities are shining in bolder relief.

So, the work is not ended because the election is over. We are called to remind our elected leaders whoever they are – of the moral imperatives that motivate us, whether we mostly agree with those leaders, or mostly disagree with them. We speak with moral authority because the Beloved Community we build is not just this church, but our whole world.

Unlike candidates and parties, we are not about political strategies and tactics. I’ve been involved in politics enough to know the angling and alliances that politics require. In politics, compromise is messy, and morality often obscured. We cannot be obsessed by strategy and tactics. We never want to become centered on having power alone – always on the moral ends, not the political ends. I’m not naive enough to believe that the strategies are completely avoidable. We will be involved in some of those conversations.

Sometimes, though, we may need to do things that may not be the most strategic. We may meet with elected representatives who we feel it’s a waste of time because of our radical disagreement. We may speak either more strongly, or more diplomatically than some of our allies. We may not value strategy as much as truth. Because sometimes something just needs to be said. And we never know what seeds we may have planted. And we keep at it.

May we always side with love – for everyone. In so doing, may we build Beloved Community now and always.

One way that we challenge the status quo and keep our sights on the future is to support organizations that help us in the building Beloved Community.

Meditation Reading

In 1993, the prescient Black sci-fi writer Octavia Butler published the first part of her Earthseed series, Parable of the Sower. In it, she depicts a dystopian future fueled by climate change, hordes of refugees, and increased social inequality. Her protagonist Lauren Olamina develops a religion out of her observations. Among them are these:

All struggles
Are essentially power struggles.
Who will rule,
Who will lead,
Who will define,
refine,
confine,
design,
Who will dominate.

All struggles
Are essentially power struggles,
And most are no more intellectual than two rams
knocking their heads together ….

When apparent stability disintegrates,
As it must-
God is Change –
People tend to give in
To fear and depression,
To need and greed.

When no influence is strong enough
To unify people
They divide.
They struggle,
One against one,
Group against group,
For survival, position, power.
They remember old hates and generate new ones,
They create chaos and nurture it.
They kill and kill and kill,
Until they are exhausted and destroyed,
Until they are conquered by outside forces,
Or until one of them becomes
A leader
Most will follow,
Or a tyrant
Most fear. …

Any Change may bear seeds of benefit.
Seek them out.

Any Change may bear seeds of harm.
Beware.

God is infinitely malleable.
God is Change ….
As wind,
As water,
As fire,
As life,

God
Is both creative and destructive,
Demanding and yielding,
Sculptor and clay.
God is Infinite Potential:
God is Change ….

Create no images of God.
Accept the images
that God has provided.
They are everywhere,
In everything.

God is Change –
Seed to tree,
tree to forest;
Rain to river,
river to sea;
Grubs to bees,
bees to swarm.
From one, many;
from many, one;
Forever uniting, growing, dissolving –
forever Changing.

The universe
is God’s self-portrait.

Sermon

I take some comfort in reading dystopian novels like Octavia Butler’s because at least our situation is not THAT bad …. Yet. The novels reassure me, too, because they show people coping with those situations that are far worse than our own. And that helps me believe that, even if it does keep getting worse, we will go on living, struggling, coping, loving, and being. We will keep dedicating children and holding the hand of the dying.

At one point in Parable of the Talents, the narrator expresses understanding for people who want a strong leader who wants to make America great again remember this was written back in the 1990’s:

” … they’re afraid and ashamed of their fear, ashamed of their powerlessness. And they’re tired. There are millions of people like them – people who are frightened and just plain tired of all the chaos. They want someone to do something. Fix things. Now!” [p. 607]

I’m in awe of how Butler foresaw the politics we struggle with today. The election this week did not go as badly as it could have in most of the country. But I didn’t vote for anyone who got elected. The nation is still deeply divided. The government is deeply divided. And, yes, there is so much fear and shame and tiredness and chaos and impatience – desire for things to just get fixed. Or to go back to some mythic good ole days.

Of all the emotions that characterize our times, impatience may be the most dangerous. Yes, hate is horrible, chilling. Anger is scary in ourselves and in others. Fear is difficult to endure and leaves us unable to think well. Shame freezes us. Tiredness wears us down. Impatience, though, has its own subtle danger – it keeps us from the excruciatingly slow untangling of complex social, economic, racial, and political issues, and reduces us to bumper sticker slogans and “easy” solutions that aren’t really solutions at all. It convinces us we are doing something – because we are doing something even when what we are doing is counter-productive, or worse yet, counter to our values.

So we need religious community to remind us of those values, of what is of worth, so we act more and more according to our values rather than according to our instincts or fears or impatience.

We will go on. Somehow. And religious community is one of the places where we find both the means and the inspiration to go on. The lessons for a time of dystopia may lend themselves to our own time.

Butler’s novels Parable of the Sower and Parable of the Talents tell about the people of Earthseed, a religion discovered by the central character, a Black teenaged woman. She and the people she lead finds comfort and solace in the fact of change, even saying God is Change, despite the horrors and violence they live in. If change really is the only lasting truth, what spiritual lessons can help us with change? After all, people have offered that idea of the eternity of change through the millenia. Around 500 years before the Common Era, Heraclitus of Ephesus is quoted as saying, “Everything changes and nothing remains still; and you cannot step twice into the same stream.”

Buddhism is known for its teachings that all is impermanent – which is much the same as saying that only change is unchanging. Whatever is happening now will not continue. So, when it is something pleasant seize the moment because it will not endure. And when it is unpleasant, know that it is impermanent so you will not always suffer. There are Five Buddhist remembrances, all related to the pervasiveness of change. They come from the Upajjhatthana (You-paja-hana) Sutta:

• • I am of the nature to grow old. There is no way to escape growing old.

• • I am of the nature to have ill health. There is no way to escape having ill health.

• • I am of the nature to die. There is no way to escape death.

• • All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change. There is no way to escape being separated from them.

• My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground upon which I stand.

Upajjhatthana Sutta (“Subjects for Contemplation”) –

Some commentators have called these “Buddhism at its very best.” Kuon Franz a Soto Zen priest from Nova Scotia sums them up this way:

Everything is going to change; nothing is ever going to be as I want it to be, as I need it to be, as I think it should be. I can’t keep the perfect thing. I can’t keep anything.

There is plenty to say about these precepts. “I am of the nature to grow old,” is one I certainly find more and more true every day. Much could be said about our culture’s resistance to the truth of growing old. That’s for another day, though.

“I am of the nature to have ill health.” We have become so much more aware of this during COVID times, when we can’t count on so much because of periodic outbreaks. And as winter approaches, flu and RSV and colds are increasing. Our culture also seems to bring the expectation that we can cure or prevent anything, and it’s not true. That sermon, too, is for another day.

“I am of the nature to die.” The late Rev. Forrest Church, an esteemed and controversial figure, said that “religion is the human response to being alive and having to die.” Multiple sermons could be preached on that one. But not today.

“All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change.” Ah! Here’s where are today. All of us need a certain amount of predictability and stability. We each have a difference tolerance for change, though. Some people thrive with stability – knowing from day to day what will happen and how. Living in the same place for a long time. Staying in the same job.

Others of us have a little problem with boredom, wanting to change it up a bit more often. My mother taught every grade from first through middle school during her career. She said recently that many of the teachers liked to keep the same grade every year. She thought that was boring – she liked to teach different grades. Kept her on her toes.

I have to remind myself that many people have less tolerance for change than I do. We all have to recognize, though, that if we do not make changes, it doesn’t prevent change from coming. Change will come. It does. Summer turns to fall to winter. Babies turn to toddlers to tweens to young adults. People grow ill and die. And we’re living in a time of hastened change. Elections turn some people out of office, while others gain power. Technology morphs almost daily. Climate change increases fires and droughts and floods and hurricanes. Diseases appear and spread. New music and art and fashion emerge and gain popularity, only to be quickly replaced by the next new trend.

And with that accelerating rate of change, more people are thrown off, longing for something firm and steadfast, dependable. Sometimes, because so much is changing around them so quickly, they can become fixated on holding on tightly to something that, in the scheme of things may not seem all that important. And yet …

Also, we might see any change as good or bad. Those are not inherent characteristics, though. Change isn’t good or bad – it simply is. “All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change.”

The single most important way to deal with that is to accept it. Not to cling to what has moved on. Sure, we mourn it, we feel our feelings – knowing that those feelings, too, are impermanent. And then we let it go. Easier said than done, I know.

Finally, the fifth remembrance:

My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground upon which I stand.

Things and even people will change and eventually disappear. Our actions, in some strange way, cast a longer shadow, are more persistent. What we do matters. That’s why it’s so important that we make deliberate choices about how we will act — in our everyday lives, in our connections with people we love and with people we do not know, in our activism. Zen priest Franz has something to say about it:

“And while you get to choose which actions you take, you don’t get to choose what those consequences will be. It’s like aiming a bow and arrow while you’re running: you know what you want to hit. Maybe you’ll get it. Maybe you won’t. You just do your best, but you have to accept the consequences for what happens because what other option is there? So Remembrance #5 is saying that what you do matters-so live like it does.” – Kuon Franz

There’s the tough part, eh? We get to choose how we act, we do not get to choose what the result of those actions are. That means we have to – oh, here it is again – let go. Let go of the outcomes. We can vote; we can even work to turn out the vote. We cannot control who will win. We can voice our opinion. We cannot choose the results. Winning and losing are not spiritually grounded concepts. They are temporary and illusory. They are bound to ego.

Now, that doesn’t mean, don’t do anything.

Remember? Your actions matter. And, it doesn’t mean that your work was wasted, even when you appear to have lost. Because we are imagining a better future as we work for it. And we cannot know what seeds we have scattered that may later bloom.

We’re called as religious people to weigh in on the side of the vulnerable and to name persecution of others as wrong – whether transgender people whose lives are threatened or women whose control of their bodies is at risk or Indigenous people losing their tribal protections or Black people dying younger and owning less or children under threat of gun violence and the mental health emergency. Such oppression is wrong. Not only inadvisable or unfair or even unconstitutional. Just plain wrong. Moral terms.

I saw a cartoon on Facebook. You may have seen it.

An adult and child. The child asks, “But what if they lose?” The adult replies, “Then we keep fighting for the rights of all people.” “And if they win?”

“Oh, dear girl, it’s the same answer.”

It’s the same answer. Win, lose, or draw – we embrace our values, living them out in our lives and in the larger world. Yes, change will come – some days the wind will blow towards us and other days away. We feel the winds and still, ground ourselves in our ideals, our vision, our mission.

If they lose. If they win. Oh, dear girl, dear friends, it’s the same answer. We keep striving for the rights of all people. We can be the change we want to see in the world.

Benediction

I leave you with the words of the Rev. Dr. Sofia Betancourt, professor at Starr King School for the Ministry:

The good news is that we are in control of what we do with our daily living. If we, each one of us, represent a missing remnant in the fabric of our collective future – then together we can lean into a possibility that we have yet to fully experience in human history. A collective wholeness. An unassailable good. That is the kind of salvation I am here to fight for in the small moments of every single day. So may it be for us. May we achieve that collective wholeness, that unassailable good, that Beloved Community.

SERMON INDEX

Most sermons during the past 22 years are available online through this website. Click on the index link above to find tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on a topic to go to that sermon.

PODCASTS

Podcasts of this and other sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them by clicking on the podcast link above or copying and pasting this link. https://itunes.apple.com/podcast/first-unitarian-universalist/id372427776

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Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button above.

Rev. Jonalu Johnstone
October 23, 2022
First UU Church of Austin
4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756
www.austinuu.org

We are living in In-between, or liminal, times – in this church and in the world. In between pandemic and virus eradication, in the midst of changing climate, in between senior ministers. We need courage because in liminal times, we are uncertain. Unpredictability can bring danger, confusion, pain and general messiness. In short, crisis. Facing these times with courage, though, can also bring new insights and a new way of being in the world. How will we face in-between times together?

Chalice Lighting

This is the flame we hold in our hearts as we strive for justice for everyone. This is the light we shine upon systems of oppression until they are no more. This is the warmth that we share with one another as our struggle becomes our salvation.

Call to Worship

IN BETWEEN
Kate R. Walker

In between, liminal, that space where we wait.
Between moments; events, results, action, no action.
To stand on the threshold, waiting for something to end,
And something new to arrive, a pause in the rumble of time.
Awareness claims us, alert, a shadow of something different.

In between invitation and acceptance.
In between symptom and diagnosis.
In between send and receipt of inquiry and question.
In between love given and love received.

Liminality, a letting go, entering into confusion,
ambiguity and disorientation.
A ritual begun, pause … look back at what once was,
Look forward into what becomes.
Identity sheds a layer, reaches into something uncomfortable to wear.

In between lighting of the match and the kindling of oil.
In between choosing of text and the reading of words.
In between voices and notes carried through the air into ears to hear.
In between — creation thrusts ever forward.

Social hierarchies may disassemble and structures may fall.
Communities may revolt or tempt trust.
Tradition may falter or creativity crashes forward.
Leaders may step down or take charge.
The people may choose or refuse.

In between, storm predicted, the horizon beacons.
In between, theology of process reminds us to step back.
In between, where minutia and galaxies intermingle with microbes and mysteries.
In between, liminal, that space where we wait: Look, listen, feel, breathe.

Affirming Our Mission

Together we nourish souls, transform lives, and do justice to build the Beloved Community.

Meditation Reading

Look well to the growing edge” All around us worlds are dying and new worlds are being born; all around us life is dying and life is being born. The fruit ripens on the tree, the roots are silently at work in the darkness of the earth against a time when there shall be new leaves, fresh blossoms, green fruit. Such is the growing edge” It is the extra breath from the exhausted lung, the one more thing to try when all else has failed, the upward reach of life when weariness closes in upon all endeavor. This is the basis of hope in moments of despair, the incentive to carry on when times are out of joint and men have lost their reason, the source of confidence when worlds crash and dreams whiten into ash. The birth of the child – life’s most dramatic answer to death – this is the growing edge incarnate. Look well to the growing edge”

– Civil Rights theologian Howard Thurman

Sermon

I learned a lot about insects in the last congregation I served. With both an ag school and a USDA Agricultural Research Center in Manhattan, Kansas, we had more entomologists – insect scientists – in that congregation than I had ever met before. So I learned something about insects.

The caterpillar inside the chrysalis is literally digesting itself, actually using its own digestive juices to break down its own body into undifferentiated cells, cells that can become anything. Well, not all of its body. There are pieces that remain intact like the tracheal tubes, for example. Plus, there’s some stuff in there already, imaginal discs, that are prepared under the right circumstances to turn into butterfly parts – eyes, antennae, legs, mouthparts, genitals, and of course, wings. Wings that allow the butterfly to take off and soar, leaving behind its old life limited to a small patch of earth to be able to travel anywhere – or at least on its instinctual migration track. But before the wings, there’s the cocoon. No wonder the caterpillar is impatient. Before we get to the glorious wings, we have to soak in the goo. Not a fun place.

Of course, metaphors like caterpillars turning into butterflies cannot fully represent human experience. I simply want to introduce the idea that the in-between time required for transformation is not always easy or pleasant. Any of you ever been through labor to birth a child?

French Reform rabbi Delphine Horvileur talks about a Hebrew word, mashber, which means crisis, yes, and it carries a deeper meaning. It comes from the name of a tool used in birthing, and relates to a place of breach, the mouth of the womb. She says, “It’s a time of anger and hope, death and life. It’s the birthing of something new and no one knows what that’s going to be.

Or maybe you’ve moved? You’re not in one place or another place; you’re in between. In between can feel really crappy. Messy. Unpredictable. Controversial. No wonder we so often want to rush through transitions to get out the other side. It does not always feel good to be in the middle of it.

Another aspect where I draw on the caterpillar metaphor.

The caterpillar has no idea what’s going on, or what it will look like when it’s done. Yes, I know, insects have no self-awareness, despite Kafka’s “Metamorphosis” and Jiminy Cricket and all the cute little animated bugs that have appeared onscreen since. The point is that transformation happens to the caterpillar based on stuff going on inside it, hormones and such, but outside the poor little caterpillar’s voluntary control.

So, have I got you excited about transition yet? It’s a messy, horrible process outside your control and you don’t know what you’ll have at the end of it. Nobody’d sign up for that voluntarily.

Or would we? Have we? In Unitarian Universalism, we do not commit ourselves to a savior, a creed, or a book. We commit ourselves to one another, to a covenant that we share, to a mission that we embrace. We commit ourselves to an approach to religion and spirituality, indeed to a way of life. And a way, that if it is followed, will change us.

I came into Unitarian Universalism from Southern Baptist churches where I had learned about personal salvation and had rejected much of the theology I had learned, though not all of it, and not all of the forms, some of which I still loved. As a young UU, I discovered feminist theology and paganism and embraced a whole new worldview, though not in a well integrated way. I like to say I went to seminary as a Southern Baptist Pagan Unitarian Universalist. My theological- and even my geographical- journey has meandered in ways unexpected and even unguessable by a younger me. I swore I would never live in Oklahoma, and I’ve lived there longer than anywhere in my adult life. I left Christianity for good, only to rediscover the words of Jesus through new lights. As the cantankerous White Kentucky farmer Wendell Berry has written: “You do not know the road; you have committed your life to a way.”

So here we are on a way, a path, a journey. And we discover ourselves in what I like to call liminal times – in-between times. Not only in this church, in the larger world, too. We are living in between the Industrial Age and the culmination of climate change. We are living in between the pandemic and whatever it is that comes next. Politically, we are living in between — I don’t even know how to describe that mess.

And in this church, you are in between called senior ministers. One era is over, and another hasn’t yet started. Yet here we find ourselves – in between, in the goo in the cocoon, in liminal space.

Franciscan ecumenical spiritual and social activist Richard Rohr writes:

The edge of things is a liminal space-a holy place or, as the Celts called it, “a thin place.” Most of us have to be taught how to live there. To function on the spiritual edge of things is to learn how to move safely in and out, back and forth, across and return …. When we are at the center of something, we easily confuse essentials with nonessentials, getting tied down by trivia, loyalty tests, and job security. Not much truth can happen there. When we live on the edge of anything, with respect and honor (and this is crucial!) we are in an auspicious and advantageous position.

And … I remind you that it does not always feel auspicious and advantageous.

The in-between place does not always feel auspicious and advantageous, but has more potential for truth and learning than the center does. We need courage to be here where we are because it is dangerous and unpredictable. Like crossing a street. Potential danger. And potential for truth and learning, if we have the courage for it.

I wonder whether that gooey in-between pupa inside the cocoon, the chrysalis that is neither caterpillar nor butterfly recognizes that it still has tracheal tubes or that the imaginal discs will become butterfly pieces. I wonder if it misses its legs or its eating. I’m sure it can’t imagine what it is to fly.

So, the in-between times are confusing and dangerous and unpredictable. Yet, they are ripe for religious transformation.

And as my UU colleague at Church of the Larger Fellowship Michael Tino has said, “Being comfortable is not the point of religious transformation.”

What, then, is the point of religious transformation? Why would we even want it?

Other religions certainly have staked their claims on transformation. The individual salvation – turning your life over to Christ – of evangelical Christianity; the enlightenment or satori of Buddhism. Other kinds of in-between times that lead to transformation may also have a religious underpinning or tone. The day you decide you have to quit drinking. The moment you receive the cancer diagnosis. The process of grief you endure as you mourn the death of your spouse or sibling or child. Life-changing events, crises, often soaked in pain, take us to an in-between place in our lives that can stimulate transformation. Crises, of course, can be positive, too – coming out, experiencing the birth of a child, awakening to a new career path. And none of it is limited to one part of our lives, but touches multiple parts of our life. Though there is continuity between who we were and who we become, so much has changed that we could say we’re a new person.

Unitarian Universalism is more modest in its aims than many religious traditions, but has an element that points towards transformation. Our third principle includes the encouragement to spiritual growth in our congregations. Spiritual growth may seem less ambitious and flashy than enlightenment or salvation, more gradual and ongoing. It’s about the same thing, though – change. We may see one as a steady measured march and the other as a rapid sprint, but they both boil down to change.

As I said a moment ago, transformation often comes in response to crisis, when one cannot go on living as one has, and has to turn some other direction. Some years back, I learned something about learning from UU minister Gary Blaine. Even though my original career was as a teacher, I had never fully realized this, but as soon as I heard it, I knew it was true. The first stage of really significant learning, of truly taking in a new way of organizing your view of the world, is a place of utter confusion, of living in the goo inside the cocoon. Confusion is the sign that your current way of organizing knowledge and making sense of the world no longer works. You have been introduced to a fact that does not fit. You can cram it and force it, or you can deny the fact that doesn’t fit. Or you can reconstruct your worldview. When you are in that place in between world views, you are readying yourself for change.

Oh, you can resist change by denying the reality of things you see in front of you, whether your own mortality, climate change, or persistence of white privilege, male privilege, class privilege, and so on. Denial is a really effective strategy; it can stave off transformation for years.

Besides denial, another resistance tactic is to accept the truth of facts, but refuse to allow them to change anything else in your worldview. So, you might accept that climate change is real and that humans are the instigators, but continue to embrace the idea that the bottom line economic benefits are the only factor to consider in decision-making, essentially not allowing the facts to matter in how you proceed, staving off the crisis for another day. Or, accept the reality of white privilege without accepting that resisting it means you have to change profoundly.

Here’s a secret I’ve learned over and over. Most people do not have a coherent worldview. Rather, we humans have different philosophies we apply in different parts of their lives. Someone might say, “God is Love/’ but only apply the love of God narrowly to people like them. Someone may have one set of eyes for their business life and another for the way they relate to their children. Usually, it’s not as conscious as Machiavellian scheming or as pretentious as hypocrisy. Mostly, it’s poor self-awareness and lack of reflection about the fit between our values, beliefs and actions. As individuals and as a community.

If we want to live an integrated, whole, honest life, though, if we want our community to reflect the values we espouse — and some of us seem driven to try to do that, when we encounter the ways that our behavior does not match our values, we are forced to change. And that’s what in-between times can push us into, if we have the courage to face what we can learn, if we allow ourselves to really notice.

But we have to start in confusion, in between, in the messy goo. Uncomfortable, maybe painful, and full of potential. That’s why we need courage in these times.

I leave you with the full meditative poem by UU Rev. Kate R. Walker

IN BETWEEN
Kate R. Walker

In between, liminal, that space where we wait.
Between moments; events, results, action, no action.
To stand on the threshold, waiting for something to end,
And something new to arrive, a pause in the rumble of time.
Awareness claims us, alert, a shadow of something different.

In between invitation and acceptance.
In between symptom and diagnosis.
In between send and receipt of inquiry and question.
In between love given and love received.

Liminality, a letting go, entering into confusion,
ambiguity and disorientation.
A ritual begun, pause … look back at what once was,
Look forward into what becomes.
Identity sheds a layer, reaches into something uncomfortable to wear.

In between lighting of the match and the kindling of oil.
In between choosing of text and the reading of words.
In between voices and notes carried through the air into ears to hear.
In between — creation thrusts ever forward.

Social hierarchies may disassemble and structures may fall.
Communities may revolt or tempt trust.
Tradition may falter or creativity crashes forward.
Leaders may step down or take charge.
The people may choose or refuse.

In between, storm predicted, the horizon beacons.
In between, theology of process reminds us to step back.
In between, where minutia and galaxies intermingle with microbes and mysteries.
In between, liminal, that space where we wait: Look, listen, feel, breathe.

Benediction

Prayer for Living in Tension
By Joseph M. Cherry

 

If we have any hope of transforming the world and changing ourselves,
we must be
bold enough to step into our discomfort,
brave enough to be clumsy there,
loving enough to forgive ourselves and others.
May we, as a people of faith, be granted the strength to be so bold,
so brave,
and so loving.

SERMON INDEX

Most sermons during the past 22 years are available online through this website. Click on the index link above to find tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on a topic to go to that sermon.

PODCASTS

Podcasts of this and other sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them by clicking on the podcast link above or copying and pasting this link. https://itunes.apple.com/podcast/first-unitarian-universalist/id372427776